Two Sessions
by In the House
Summary: Takes place in the Pranks universe.  Wilson and House catch Jensen up on the events of Sick Day.  Wilson/OC, House/Cuddy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters of House, MD, the TV show are not mine. Jensen IS mine. :)

A/N: This is a two-parter, first chapter Wilson, second chapter House. Both of them catch up Jensen on some of the events in Sick Day. This is an odd story for me in that there isn't its own "cycle" of problem and resolution within that story. Yes, there's progress and strategy, but both sessions cover much longer-term things to be worked on. This was needed in the Pranks series to get the issues brought up in Sick Day onto the therapeutic table, though. Much more coming in Three Cases.

Three Cases, the next big Pranks story, is most likely a good way down the road, maybe even months. It has a LOT of work left to do on it and will require a lot of research, too, and I have another writing project demanding to be given priority to be written down before that. Not that I ever really work on just one thing at a time, and Three Cases will be simmering away on the back burner meanwhile, but it has a lot of cooking time left. So hang tight after this one, because it may be a while. Patience is a virtue. :)

(H/C)

Wilson entered Jensen's office with reluctant enthusiasm - he _knew_ he badly needed to get things on the psychiatric table today, but he still wasn't looking forward to confessing his further faults. Jensen gave him a friendly smile and offered coffee as usual, but the psychiatrist's dark eyes were assessing every nuance as Wilson took his usual chair in front of the desk. Honestly, Jensen in expression could remind Wilson of House at times, although they looked nothing alike physically.

"Are you all right, James? Physically, I mean. I can tell there's more, but we'll get down to the rest of it in due time." Jensen thought that Wilson looked pale and had dropped a few pounds in the last week since his previous session. Granted, he'd been carrying a little extra to drop, but it was still a change. Normally, psychological stress made him agitated, which he clearly was today, but it didn't make him look half sick.

Wilson dismissed his health with a short nod. "I've had that wonderful stomach bug that's been going around. Was sick half of Monday and half of Tuesday. I'm feeling a lot better today, but it did knock me down for a while; today was my first day at work all week."

Jensen winced in sympathy. "I had it myself last weekend. Saturday, anyway, and spent most of Sunday resting and recovering. So did Cathy. Not much fun, is it?"

Wilson shook his head. He was glad to have another initial subject to postpone the inevitable for a while, and he expanded on the current topic. "It's frustrating as a doctor to realize there's still really nothing medically we can do for just a bug going around. It's hit a lot of people; the hospital has been short-staffed and hopping. Sandra must have picked it up there; she was sick by Sunday night herself. House and his whole family had it all day Sunday, too." The oncologist paused, then edited in the interests of accuracy. "Well, no, actually Cuddy turned out not to have the virus after all, but you know the surgery fixed her up."

Jensen literally dropped his pen and sat up straight in his desk chair. "Surgery? Dr. Cuddy had _surgery_ this weekend?"

Wilson was startled out of concentrating on putting off his own problems. "You didn't know that already?"

"No. I haven't spoken to Dr. House since last Friday's session."

"He didn't call you? When I left him at the hospital Sunday night, I figured he'd jump straight to the phone to talk to you since she wasn't awake yet."

"No. What happened to Dr. Cuddy?"

"She had appendicitis. House diagnosed her, even sick and half drugged, and I drove them to the hospital. Laparoscopic surgery, no complications. They caught it early, thanks to House. She went home Monday morning. She's doing okay; she'll be back at work next week."

Jensen was still trying to piece together the situation. "You drove them to the hospital Sunday night - with him sick and half drugged - and then _left_ him there before she had even woken up?"

Wilson was starting to get defensive. "He _told_ me to go. I'd just found out Sandra was sick, too; I'd spent all day with House and Cuddy helping them out with the kids, so I didn't know up until I called her with an update. He thought helping nurse Sandra would score me a few brownie points, and God knows I need them. He swore he was okay, and he was in the hospital, after all. Plenty of people around if needed. It wasn't like leaving him sitting on the side of the road. Really, I was sure he was going to call you as soon as I cleared the door. That's what made me feel better about leaving him there." Wilson paused, looking thoughtful. "He _did_ seem to be managing, though. Not just House deflection; he seemed to be dealing with the situation. Well, I mean he was sick, still couldn't keep anything down, in pain, and we had him drugged up for his leg - he'd had a pain flare earlier that day that hit a 10. So he looked pretty awful still. But he said he was fine with me leaving. I didn't totally believe him, of course, but I was sure he was going to call you."

Jensen sighed. "No, he didn't. I'd been sick, which he knew, but I was getting better by Sunday. I still would have answered. You said Dr. Cuddy was doing well, though?"

"Yes. She's making a textbook recovery. No problems at all. I just got an update on her from House at lunch today."

"And he seemed to be all right himself then?"

"He was classic House at lunch. Distracted with a case, needling me a little bit, stealing some of my fries. Then the ketchup bottle getting sluggish and finally spurting all at once made him think of something with the patient's blood, and he went bolting out like he does without finishing. But I had already asked about Cuddy before that. Trust me, there was nothing at all bothering him today. He's perfectly fine." Jensen didn't look quite convinced. Wilson was beginning to get annoyed now. All right, so he'd been the one to bring up the whole topic of House, but Jensen's thoughts weren't even in this room at the moment. "Shall we put my session on hold while you call to check on him? I can take a number."

Jensen firmly refocused his attention. "No. You're right; I apologize." Actually, Jensen didn't completely trust the accuracy of Wilson's readings on House, particularly when Wilson was stressed out himself, which he clearly was today. Wilson had a gift for seeing his own reality at times. But the oncologist was right. This was not the appropriate time to dig any further into House. Jensen switched gears to his current patient. "So what's happened this last week, James? Obviously something has. Something more than just being sick."

Wilson looked down at his coffee, suddenly wishing he could stall for a few more minutes. Maybe he should have let Jensen chase the House topic a little longer, which he was sure the psychiatrist would have done. Wilson couldn't believe himself that House hadn't called the other man from the hospital Sunday night. "I . . .um. . ." He trailed off and took a swallow of coffee.

Jensen gave him a gentle verbal prod. "Something new between you and Sandra?"

"Kind of. At least knowing about it is new. She's known since Saturday, but she told me Sunday morning."

"Told you what?" Jensen asked patiently. He could have made a few guesses, based on the oncologist's guilt factor being even higher today than in the last few weeks, but he left it up to Wilson to get around to filling in the blanks.

"You know she went to the OB for her first visit recently, the same day we were all at court. She went back again and asked for a full STD panel, and that came back." Wilson closed his eyes.

"Which one?" the psychiatrist asked. There was no condemnation in his voice at the moment. Wilson was clearly calling himself worse things right now than anyone else could have. For once, the oncologist was left with no choice but to admit his own errors, no possible way to jump off to validate himself by analyzing somebody else's problems instead and deeming them worse, and the weight of it was almost visibly pressing down on his shoulders.

"HSV2. Genital herpes."

Jensen flinched. "That's treatable but not curable. Right?"

The oncologist looked at him squarely for the first time since the topic had turned to himself rather than House. "In _adults_, yes. It's a nuisance, but it can be lived with."

"And what about the baby?" Jensen asked.

"It's very serious in infants. Even fatal sometimes. It can cause prematurity. There's a whole list of possible neurological problems. Even if the child survives, it can cause brain damage."

"What are the chances of in utero transmission?"

"5% for a primary infection in the mother. It's a lot less if she'd already had it and had outbreaks before she got pregnant. Would be worse if she got it later in pregnancy, but it's still a real risk. Sandra might have to have a C-section, too. The biggest risk of transmission is going through the birth canal. That 5% is without considering that, just in utero."

"That's still 95% that the child won't get it," Jensen pointed out.

Wilson smacked his hand down on his thigh. "I can't believe this. _All those times_ before, when it didn't matter half as much, everything was fine. We both got tested when we first started seeing each other, so I know everything was fine. But now that I've got the best relationship I've ever had and she's carrying my child, _one_ stupid slip, and I've given her an incurable disease and might have killed our baby."

"You don't know that yet on the baby. You just know that there's a chance, a small one, of transmission of the virus. Even if that occurs, you don't know the course the virus will take. How is Sandra dealing with all this?"

"She's worried, too, of course. She . . . I don't know how she can even stand to look at me now. And if the baby dies, I've obviously totally blown it. There's no way we could ever have a future then."

"That's not completely statistically accurate, although it would be very hard. But James, try not to jump to the worst case scenario before you have to. You aren't going to help Sandra any by that. She is going to be nerve wracked herself through the next several months, and her stress factor impacts the baby's health. She needs support from you right now, not a constant forecast of doom."

Wilson shook his head. "I'll try, but . . . we hadn't even really talked until last night. When she told me Sunday morning, I immediately went running out to go get a medical opinion on the baby from House. I found out they were all sick and stayed there all day helping them, then went back to help her when I found out that night she was sick, then got sick myself. Last night was the first time we were both really up to it."

"And how did that conversation go?" Jensen asked, with a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answer.

He was right. "I told her I'd pack up my things and leave Princeton if she wanted, because I knew she had to detest me."

"And just abandon her and your child?"

"I said I'd send child support," Wilson bristled. "I'm not trying to walk out on my responsibilities here."

_Yes, you are_, Jensen thought. _Trying to walk out on your guilt, anyway, as far as you can. _But Wilson was still sitting here in his office rather than on a plane to California. "What was Sandra's reaction?" Jensen asked. Sandra in his limited experience seemed to have a very good head on her shoulders.

Wilson looked down again. "She got mad. She was about as mad as I've ever seen her. Said that I wasn't going to get off that lightly and just walk away to leave her with the fallout from what I'd done. She said she wouldn't _let_ me leave at this point, that if . . . that if she was going through a whole pregnancy of worrying, I deserved to go through every day of it, too." _Good for her,_ the psychiatrist thought. "Get off _lightly_," Wilson repeated. "She really thinks I'm trying to get off lightly."

"James, what do you think she was saying there?"

"Oh, she was pretty clear. She wants a front-row seat to see me worrying about this."

"Partly, yes. She does think - _correctly _- that you just leaving her behind and moving somewhere else to get distance from the situation would be you taking an option that she cannot take herself. And that _is _unfair. It _would_ be getting off lightly for you, more lightly than she is. But on a deeper level, what do you think she was saying?"

Wilson spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know. If there was anything else there, I missed it."

"She doesn't want to be alone," Jensen stated. "Yes, she has friends, but you are the only one who can be full partner in her worries. It is your child. You and she together have a link there that no one else shares, and _nothing_ will change that fact. No matter what you have done, you are this child's father, and she needs your support to get through the waiting, and then to get through the birth and any complications if they do occur, and then to raise the child. Whether or not you and she ever get back to where you were, she _needs_ you to do your part with this child, and you have no right to abdicate that role."

"You think she really _wants_ me there? Not just to blame and throw darts at for the next seven months?"

"Yes, I do. If you don't take anything else out of this session, hold onto this thought, James. Unless she all but physically throws you out the door and says to get out of her life permanently, do not leave or even offer to. You just leaving town would be the worst possible solution to this mess. It wouldn't be a solution at all. Now even more than before is when you need to show her that you are there for her."

Wilson sighed. "I feel like that chance is already gone."

"Then why did you rush back to her Sunday night when you heard she was sick?"

"I was worried about her . . . and that was at least something I know how to do. I can deal with tending to sick people."

Jensen looked sympathetic. "It would be easier in your terms if a whole relationship could stay like that, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Wilson agreed immediately, then hesitated. "And that was the wrong answer, wasn't it?"

"Relationally, yes. But it was truthful, at least. Back to the bigger issue and dealing with the next several months. First, like I said, do not leave. No matter what happens, unless she tells you flat out to get lost forever, do not leave. Second, I think I want to switch your antidepressant to a stronger one. You are going to need help yourself; I realize this will be very hard for you. Remember, you have people, too. You can talk to me, or to Dr. House. I'd also like to give you a prescription for prn Ativan, but only if you agree to tell Sandra you have it, let her check up on your use randomly, and only for one bottle at a time. I would have to authorize each refill."

Wilson had been nodding slightly at the mention of changing the antidepressant, but his defenses kicked back up at the last part. "You don't trust me."

Jensen's tone was purely professional, not convicting, just laying out facts. "You have a history of using alcohol as a coping mechanism and an escape when you are under stress. I know you're working on that, but this is undeniably a stressful situation. We don't need to simply replace one addiction with another."

Wilson couldn't deny the logic, but it still rankled a little. "But why tell _Sandra_? She's the one I'm supposed to be being supportive of. Maybe House could check on it now and then if you want to give me some accountability."

"James, how do you think she would react at the moment to you hiding things?" Wilson looked down, his silence answer enough. "She _will_ find out. She would run across the bottle eventually. You are living in the same apartment, even if not sleeping together; she's bound to discover it. And when she did, she would worry why you hadn't mentioned it, and because it had been a secret, she would worry even more that you might be in danger of replacing addictions. Telling her up front removes the extra worry for her later."

"I guess that makes sense." Wilson still didn't like it.

"It also demonstrates trust in her. It's okay to be vulnerable, James. She is a nurse; she can appreciate appropriate medication use. I really do think you're going to need it, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't see any possibility for misuse. She will be impressed that you put it on the table with her from the beginning."

"Okay," Wilson agreed reluctantly. "I have been feeling anxious. I even thought Sunday . . ." He shut down quickly.

"What did you think Sunday?" Jensen asked, his tone sharpening up a little.

"I. . . when she first told me Sunday morning, my first thought was to go out somewhere and have a drink. Just one - that's how I thought it, anyway - but it probably would have been more than one once I got going. That's when I decided to go ask House his medical advice instead. Distract myself with something that really would be valuable to know."

"Did you tell Sandra that that was a diversion?"

"Hell, no. She'd just told me I had endangered our child. How could I possibly have phrased that? 'Boy, I'd really like to go get plastered right now.' I just said we needed a medical opinion on it from House, and I bolted out the door."

The psychiatrist fought back a sigh of his own. "Did you tell Dr. House what your initial thought had been and that he was a distraction?"

"No. He was sick. They all were, but he had the worst case of the virus, and his leg was acting up, too, because he couldn't take his regular pain meds. I just stayed to help them. I didn't want to expose Sandra to the bug and give her something else, too. Cuddy would have liked to kick me out, I think, but House sided with me. And I figured spending all day with them was safe enough. Which worked; by that night, I wasn't even thinking about going to a bar anymore."

"Did you ask Sandra if she wanted to come with you?"

"To House, you mean? No. I just ran out." Jensen looked at him steadily. "I _did _tell her where I was going," Wilson said defensively. "And that wasn't a lie. I even called her with an update later."

Jensen shook his head. "Okay, second major rule. The first one, remember, is that you don't get to leave unless she directly tells you to. Second, you don't do _anything_ involving the baby in isolation from her. If you are doing anything related to your child together, ask her if she wants to come along. She would have appreciated hearing a medical opinion from Dr. House herself, I'm sure. Of course, she didn't know your initial thought about finding some alcohol. But because of that, she didn't realize why you bolted out so abruptly. From her point of view, it was just something that you shut her out of, and she probably suspected that there was more going on under the surface, too, and worried about that."

Wilson put a hand over his eyes. "I hadn't even thought about it like that."

"_Nothing_ with this baby involves only you, James. Remember that. Everything there, she must be an equal partner in. She gets a vote, and she gets participation. And actually, to tell her you wanted to go do something productive and valid instead of following an impulse to go get a drink would impress her. Remember, hiding things from her just leads to more worry. She already knows you have a problem with alcohol; that's not news to her. Let her know how you are working on dealing with it. That actually _was_ a good idea, to distract yourself with something else, to put yourself around people to remove the opportunity. Just ask her if she'd like to come along next time."

The oncologist nodded slowly. "I'll try."

"Have you been to Alcoholics Anonymous yet?"

"I was going to go to a group meeting on Monday nights, but I was sick this Monday. That would have been the first one."

"Be sure you go to the next one. I do think that will be a support for you. But again, good job avoiding that pitfall this weekend."

"Even if I screwed up in other ways at the same time?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

"Yes. Even then. Screwing up in other ways doesn't remove the progress there. What about the counseling?"

"We're going on Tuesday nights. Last week, Sandra didn't know yet about the disease. That was our first appointment. Last night, we didn't even go. I still wasn't feeling 100%, and we canceled earlier in the day because of the bug. Then we got into a fight last night anyway." Wilson stopped fiddling with his tie and looked at the psychiatrist. "Do you really think there's any point in continuing couple's counseling?"

"Definitely," Jensen replied. "Even if you don't fully get back together, it will help you deal with each other and work together to raise your child. Whether the relationship fails or not, this is your child together. You must cooperate in that; it's unfair to the child not to."

Wilson gave a sad smile. "I hope we get a _chance_ to raise our child."

"I know. But really, the odds are very much in your favor. While you're waiting, just try to be there. She's going to need support. Talk when she wants to, distract her when she wants that. But never, ever make a unilateral decision involving this child, even if it's just something valid like asking Dr. House's medical opinion. Don't shut her out."

"All right. But finding 7 more months' worth of ways to say I'm sorry is going to be a challenge."

"Don't do that," Jensen urged him. "There are some things where an apology just isn't enough. You've already apologized to her several times, I'm sure. Forget the words at this point; to keep harping on that will only make it worse. Do you remember how Dr. House's mother reacted when you told her about the abuse?"

Wilson cringed. "I'll never forget that. She really thought apologizing over and over would just undo it."

"Which it didn't. It _couldn't_. That was beyond apology. But you'll notice, they have a much better relationship at this point, even though she's still made some mistakes. Things aren't hopeless for you and Sandra, James. I'm not saying you will get back together. But for the sake of your child, you need to improve things with her, and things _can_ improve. Even given what you've done."

Wilson squirmed and looked at his watch. "We're running over."

Jensen pulled out a prescription pad from his desk, writing out two forms. "You can call me if you need to, James. And talk to Dr. House. He's a good friend, and he already knows the situation. He'll be there for you."

The oncologist took the offered prescriptions and stood up. "Thanks. I just hope our baby lives."

"Don't cross that bridge until you have to," Jensen recommended. "And yes, I know it's not that easy." He stood up and offered his hand. "You do have a support system, James. You and Sandra both. Use them."

"I will. See you next week." Wilson neatly folded the prescriptions before pocketing them and then turned and left the office.

Jensen sat back down at his desk. He pulled out his laptop, doing a little quick research on HSV2 himself just to see it in print, and sighed. Good odds indeed. But when the odds went against you . . . He, too, hoped that Sandra and Wilson's child was perfectly healthy.

After a few minutes, he closed the laptop. His eye caught the guitar on the wall as he straightened up and turned, and that reminded him of House. He swiveled the desk chair back, staring at the phone for a good five minutes, but even though his fingers were almost twitching a few times, he did not call. Standing up again, he switched out the light in the inner office, said good night to his secretary, and headed home.


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen found his thoughts throughout Thursday and Friday drifting back to House in moments where the psychiatrist wasn't occupied with something else. He was worried, but he still managed to resist the impulse to call. From Wilson's description of Sunday night, Jensen wasn't sure what kind of condition House had been in, between illness, drugs, and stress, and he strongly disagreed with the oncologist's decision to just leave him at the hospital before Cuddy was even awake. He wondered if Sandra had had a few words on that subject later, too. Whether or not House had asked him to go, Wilson should have at least stayed in the hospital nearby a little longer, available if needed, until Cuddy was fully awake and House was doing better himself. By Wilson's own account, House had been in bad shape with the leg worse than usual, had even hit a 10 on the pain scale that day. Someone - someone House would accept help from and someone who hadn't just had surgery, which pretty well limited that list - should have stayed near him to monitor the situation. Based just on Sunday night, Jensen couldn't be sure if the lack of a call from House was a conscious decision or just drugged oversight.

However, Sunday had been several days ago, and that fact definitely swung the balance. Between House himself and Cuddy, one of them would have called Jensen since if they thought a talk before Friday was needed. Clearly, in their judgment, it wasn't. Jensen didn't fully trust Wilson, but he did trust House and Cuddy in combination. He needed to respect their decision. He also was trying to work himself on his tendency to put in extra hours right and left. Melissa had been very understanding during the Patrick Chandler crisis, which really had required a lot extra, but Jensen knew how easy it would be to slip back into old habits. No, the best thing to do now was simply wait for House's next session to judge for himself how his patient had handled an obviously very tough weekend.

Still, Jensen was looking forward to that session Friday, even more than he usually did.

House arrived on time Friday afternoon, and Jensen greeted him and went over to get coffee for both of them from the coffee maker in the corner. Jensen himself didn't have a cup with every patient through the day, though he always offered a drink to them, but he routinely had one with House. He turned back with a cup in each hand and hesitated for just a fraction, then recovered almost instantly. House had taken the chair in front of the desk, not his usual more comfortable one with the ottoman where he could stretch out his leg. A subconscious move, but it spoke volumes. House also looked like he was under a new strain, seeing a new road that he didn't like stretching out in front of him. The signs were subtle, but to Jensen, they were as plain as billboards on the highway. Something new was definitely bothering House, something that hadn't been there when Jensen saw him last a week ago. Either Wilson had totally missed it in his assessment of House at lunch Wednesday, or it was new since then, but Jensen's money was on the former. To have had yet another acute stressor come up since Wednesday would have pushed even House's abysmal luck.

Jensen gave House his cup and went around to take his chair behind the desk, not commenting on the different seating arrangements. "Dr. Wilson mentioned Wednesday that Dr. Cuddy had an appendectomy," he started. "How is she doing?"

House relaxed just a fraction, and the psychiatrist, alert to every minute detail, noted it. It wasn't Cuddy who was bothering him. "She's doing fine. A bit frustrated, of course. She doesn't do taking it easy well." Jensen grinned, remembering House's own reaction to that advice on a few occasions. "It was pretty straightforward, and they did do it laparoscopically. Just a couple of tiny incisions. She's a little sore but on her feet. She'll be back at work next week. In fact, she was trying to convince me that we didn't even need Marina there today, because she could handle the girls and everything."

"I take it you won?" Jensen asked.

"Me and Marina between us. And Rachel threw in her 2-cents' worth, too." Just a flicker of change of expression there, only for a second before it was gone. Something involving Rachel? "Lisa really is making a good recovery, though. She'll be fine." And he called her Lisa. House was definitely on edge about something, although it wasn't his wife's surgery.

"James also said you'd been sick last weekend." Jensen was starting to get a vague outline of a picture based on an few of Wilson's comments, House picking the less comfortable chair today, and Rachel.

House tightened up, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. "Sounds like you did an awful lot of talking about me during his session Wednesday. You ever hear of confidentiality? I know _he_ hasn't, but I'm surprised at you."

Bingo, Jensen thought. Even after nearly two years of therapy in which he was now a willing participant, even admitting the value of it, House still often had a good dodge in him when they were first approaching the neighborhood of a tough topic. It was like a reflex with him. House trusted Jensen by now, and if he were really concerned about confidentiality, he would have objected at the first "Wilson said" comment, not just the second.

Still, Jensen backed off momentarily, taking the time to reassure him. "That was only the first few minutes of the session, and none of it was about your therapy. We almost wound up having that whole discussion by accident. I noticed that James wasn't looking quite 100% and asked, and he said he'd had the virus the last few days, following that with a list of everybody else who had it recently, too, plus the fact that Dr. Cuddy had appendicitis instead. I did ask him for a few more details to make sure everything had turned out all right, since I hadn't known that. But we got down to his own issues fairly quickly."

House looked down at his cup, doing a differential on the coffee. "I thought about calling you Sunday night from the hospital, but I decided not to. I knew you'd been sick, too, but I really felt then like I was okay. It was a hard day, but it ended all right. Lisa was stable, and I wasn't freaking out over her. I was dealing with things."

"Good," Jensen said, accepting that statement as he hadn't quite accepted Wilson's.

House looked up, challenging. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Yes, I do," Jensen replied evenly, not rising to the bait. House definitely was on edge today, looking for an argument to distract himself. "And that is good. That's progress, to take the bad days in stride." The last word was a bit of a subliminal shot in the dark, and House looked back down at his coffee cup as it went home. Jensen wasn't lying; he _did_ believe House's analysis of Sunday night, and he _was_ glad to hear it. But he also knew that on further reflection, parts of that day - and not the surgical parts - continued to bother House. "So your whole family was sick Sunday. You'd meant to put up the Christmas tree with Rachel that day, right?" He deliberately brought Rachel back into the conversation.

"Right. Didn't get it done then, though. We did it Wednesday night." House stalled again, and Jensen gave him a moment, seeing if House would arrive at the pertinent point of Sunday himself before Jensen gave him a boost. The psychiatrist had a pretty good idea of the central issue by now, not necessarily the exact details that got there but the basic problem.

House took a few swallows of coffee, killing time, then looked up at the psychiatrist. Jensen was sitting there pleasant as always, perfectly willing to wait him out, but House knew with one look at his eyes that the other man had him treed. Politely but firmly treed. House was so used to the upper hand in analysis of data and interpersonal maneuvering that it always rankled a bit to be confronted with just how good at it - _equally_ good at it - Jensen was, only with smooth professionalism instead of snark. "Damn it, you're annoying sometimes," House said but without half of the irritation that had been in his tone a minute ago, just a verbal salute to a worthy opponent.

"I'm sorry," Jensen said, using the phrase to invoke Cuddy. No doubt she knew what was going on, too, and had been trying to support her husband herself this week. Jensen stopped with the strategic apology, still leaving House the opportunity to initiate the topic on his own.

House set his cup back down. "Abby walked on Sunday," he said finally. Again, he felt the surge of pride in his daughter, even if that pride had developed a slightly bittersweet topping the more he had thought - okay, obsessed - about his girls all week.

Jensen smiled. "That's wonderful! She's really getting stronger. She'll catch up with all the others by the time she's a year or two older."

"Yeah," House agreed. "I was so proud of her right then. For those few minutes, none of the rest of it mattered."

"And what was the rest of it?" Jensen asked softly.

House sighed. "The _reason_ she walked. She's never even tried before; just to the pull-up-on-things stage. She was pretty wobbly then, but it was definitely walking. She just got so determined to do something right then that wobbles didn't matter."

"And what was her reason?"

"She was trying to help me." House looked down at his leg, running his right hand over it, feeling the crater that would never again be whole. "I'd just woken up, and it was just me and Abby in the bed; Lisa and Rachel were off somewhere arguing about Christmas trees with Wilson." House paused to see if Jensen would accept that enticing rabbit to chase. It was tempting, but Jensen filed it for later in the session, refusing to let House back away now that he was coming to the crux of what was bothering him. House sighed again and continued.

"So it was just the two of us in the bedroom with the door shut. I had to go to the bathroom - they had me on IV fluids." And with that morsel of information, a testament to just how sick House had been Sunday, Jensen again thought that Wilson should not have completely left the hospital Sunday night. "So I got up, but Abby was determined to come along. I was afraid she'd fall off the bed, so I put her down on the floor." Instead of carrying her, the psychiatrist noted. "I went into the bathroom, and then I got sick and threw up again. And that's when I realized I couldn't get up from the floor." House trailed off, distracted by the glint of anger in Jensen's eyes. "What?"

Jensen took a double-fisted grip on himself. "Nothing. Nothing more important that what you're telling me, anyway." He firmly slammed the mental door on thoughts of Wilson's actions Sunday night. Nothing could be changed now, and in this session, he didn't need to let House get off the topic he'd finally gotten onto. "Go on. So Abby was trying to help you get up?" That mental image, the undersized 1-year-old and her quite-tall father, was adorable, and the psychiatrist was careful to hide any hint of a smile. House would misread it as pity right now, which he was obviously already doing with Abby.

House nodded. "Right. She was across the bathroom, pulling up on the sink. I was on the floor by the toilet wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now. Nobody else nearby and the bedroom door shut, remember. Didn't even have my cell phone on me. So I stretched out a hand to her, just as a joke, really, and asked her to help me out. And she let go of the sink and _walked_ to me." Again the surge of pride.

"I'll bet she was proud of herself, too," Jensen commented.

"She was. She knew I was happy with her, and she was loving every minute of it. It was funny, though; she resented being asked to do it again just as a circus trick. Lisa walked in a little after that, and it took some maneuvering to get Abby to do it again for her. Basically had to recreate the scene, and I could tell she wasn't quite buying it the second time, but she finally cooperated. Then we wanted to show Wilson a few minutes later, and she totally refused on that. Just said, 'No,' and sat down again."

"Has she walked since?"

"Yes, a few times. She's gaining confidence in it slowly. She still doesn't like doing it just to show off. Rachel, now, when she started walking, was _all_ about showing off." Again, the tension increased even more subtly on Rachel than it had with Abby.

"What happened Sunday with Rachel and your leg?" Jensen asked directly.

House took another swallow of coffee before answering. "The whole morning, she was annoyed because of the change of plans on the Christmas tree. She wasn't feeling well, which made her cranky, and she was really irritated about it. She seemed to decide that if she didn't admit she was sick, maybe we could do it anyway. But that was the recurring theme; we could never quite get away from that Christmas tree. And my leg . . . the pain was bad that morning anyway. I couldn't keep down the meds, and I'd had several trips bolting up to the bathroom. It was giving me hell. Lisa wanted to move on to the rescue meds, which we could do injections for, but I was putting it off and hoping I could just ride the virus out."

"Why?" the psychiatrist asked.

"I didn't want to be out of it for the whole day. It was supposed to be a _family_ day, damn it. Even sick, it _was_ kind of a family day. But drugged-out dad didn't fit in that picture. I didn't want the girls to see . . ." He trailed off. "And a whole lot of good that did. What they did see was a lot worse."

"What happened?" Jensen repeated.

"Rachel was going on again about the Christmas tree and demanding to do that. I had picked her up and was trying to explain again that we were sick and couldn't do it that day, but we'd reschedule it. She was disappointed in me." He paused, that part still hurting even aside from the physical pain. "She tried to physically push away and get out of my arms, and she wound up kicking me square in the leg. Hard." Jensen winced himself in sympathy. House looked down again at his thigh, rubbing it. "I don't even remember the next part. I was just trying to keep breathing. Wasn't aware of the others at all; I _couldn't_ think about anything else right then." He looked back up at the psychiatrist. "Not even my daughters. I couldn't even think about my daughters."

"Nobody could have just then," Jensen said. "There's a reason that 10 on the pain scale represents the worst level. You've seen plenty of people in your practice having a severe pain flare who weren't even aware of their surroundings for that period when it was at its worst, right?"

"I know. _Medically_, it makes sense. But . . . if I could have reassured them somehow . . . maybe it would have helped. They were terrified. Both of them, right there in the bed. They saw all of it. Lisa and Wilson went for the rescue meds then, of course. I couldn't have even gotten them myself; I was fighting passing out. They knocked me out, and when I woke up a few hours later, that's when Abby was so concerned. She wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom by myself. And Rachel . . ." He sighed again. "Rachel had some questions for Lisa, wanting to know what was wrong and if I'd ever get well. And Lisa answered them. And since then, the whole damn week, I can see Rachel watching me. Every night when I come home, she's trying to get a pain reading herself. Everything I do, she's a little bit concerned on it. Wednesday with the Christmas tree, she even told me to be careful when I was putting the ornaments on the top part. I've become _fragile_ to her. So now they know everything." House slammed his hand down suddenly in anger and hit his leg himself - unintentionally. That had simply been a frustration reflex, not an aimed blow, but the thigh couldn't distinguish between intentional or not and went into a cramp. House jumped, closing his eyes.

Jensen was around the desk even before House had realized he was moving. "_Stop_ it," the psychiatrist demanded, pulling his hand away. Jensen carefully probed along the scar, finding the spasm and gently manipulating it loose. His hands almost commanded relaxation, and the leg and House himself couldn't help responding. Jensen massaged the leg for a little longer, then straightened up. "Move," he said firmly. "Get in the other chair." Almost meekly, House stood up stiffly and moved over to his usual chair, stretching his leg out and propping it on the ottoman. Jensen topped off the two coffee cups, then came over to take his own seat, both of them in their routine positions now.

"I didn't mean to do that," House told him, accepting the cup. "Not the leg, anyway. I just felt like hitting _something_."

"To quote Rachel, be careful next time. And you might not have meant that, but you definitely meant to punish your leg, at least subconsciously, by sitting at the desk. You didn't take a break from driving to stretch it out on the way up this afternoon, either, did you?" House's silence conceded the point. "Tell me, Dr. House, what is it you think the girls know now? You said they know everything. Define everything."

"You know," House protested.

"Pretend I don't. What is everything?"

House looked away. "How hopelessly broken I am," he said softly.

Jensen shook his head. "That's not true. And even aside from whether it's true or not, that's not _everything_. Even you don't believe that that is a summary statement of your life anymore."

House looked back at him, the blue eyes annoyed. "So now you're going to tell me what I'm feeling? You're good, but you aren't omniscient last time I checked."

"You're the one who told me," Jensen replied.

"When?" House challenged.

"A couple of places. First, you said that you were okay Sunday night, that you felt you had dealt with a tough day fairly well. You obviously were telling the truth there. You were feeling like you were getting better Sunday night, weren't you? Not talking about the virus but in general terms." Slowly, House nodded. "You also said that all being sick together Sunday actually _had_ been a family day of sorts. The experience wasn't completely negative for you. And when you were talking about Abby walking for the first time, you said that at that moment, none of the rest of it, _not even your leg_, mattered. You think, correctly, that your life is improving, that things are good with your family. You are enjoying that, even things like being sick with them. Think back to Sunday night, Dr. House. Remember how you were feeling then. You said you _were_ okay with that day at the end of it, probably still regretting the girls discovering the extent of your pain, but over all, in the balance, it wasn't a bad day. It was a _tough_ day but not a bad one. Is that a fair assessment for how you felt Sunday night?"

House sighed. "Yes."

"So what happened between Sunday night and now?"

"I woke up," House replied with a twist of bitterness flavoring the tone.

"Have you had repeated pain flares like that in front of the girls this week and scared them several more times?"

"No. It hardly ever gets _that_ bad. Thankfully."

"Have they or Dr. Cuddy told you they find you lacking as a father, there's no chance for success, and you should just leave?"

House's head snapped up on that. "I _can't_ leave them."

"Excellent, Dr. House. And you're correct. This _is _your life, and you are irrevocably committed to your family and your children. But back to the question, have they asked you to?"

"No," House said.

"So what changed this week? Nothing new seems to have happened. Rachel especially is still reacting to Sunday, which is understandable given her age, but there's a difference between concern and disappointment, even for a 2-year-old. It doesn't sound like your family has concluded that Sunday was a hopeless failure on your part."

House squirmed slightly in the chair and dodged by taking another drink of coffee. He _hated_ talking about his feelings, even now when he knew it helped. Jensen waited him out. "I was just . . . thinking, I guess."

"And the more you've gnawed over and analyzed things all week, the more the bad parts of Sunday have grown in your mind and pushed out the more positive aspects, haven't they?" House nodded after a moment. "Part of you still thinks you don't deserve this and that it's going to fail. That's the part conditioned by your father, and that part keeps looking for failures. But that's only _part_ of you, Dr. House. Trust your initial reaction Sunday night. You _are _getting better, and it's the present that's the current reality, not the past. Getting better is frightening in a way, and that's what you're facing. You think what if your new assessments are wrong, and is it all going to blow up like so much has in the past. Let yourself acknowledge those fears, but don't let yourself obsess on them. Don't let worry push out the good memories. Abby _walked_ Sunday. It doesn't matter why; the fact that she did is a victory. Hold onto that memory, like you wanted to at first. Let yourself trust your present."

"But Rachel keeps _looking _at me. She's even asked several times this week how much I'm hurting."

"Rachel is two. She'll settle down and learn to read more subtle signs. But tell me, did you really think you could go through raising your daughters and not ever have them learn the facts about your leg?"

"Of course not. I know they would have put it together at some point. But not yet."

"That's an interesting choice of words. You said they would have put it together at some point. Did you ever picture yourself eventually just telling them?"

House almost physically shied away from that thought. "Right, let's see how that would go. 'Hey, girls, today we'll define what it is to be crippled. Exhibit A.'"

"What if they asked you outright?"

"I'd . . . I guess maybe I'd tell them. But not yet. Lisa actually talked to Rachel, tried to give her real answers, I mean. How is that supposed to make a 2-year-old feel, to learn that her father is never going to get better?"

"What do you think Dr. Cuddy should have told Rachel? She was apparently asked a direct question, right?"

"Several of them. But she could have . . . I don't know, played it off, or distracted her - you can usually distract Rachel - or told her she'd tell her when she was older."

Jensen grinned. "I'd recommend against that last one. One of the surest ways to get Cathy annoyed is to put something off until she's older. But chase that thought for a moment. Say that Rachel needed to be older before she had the hard facts. How much older do you think she'd need to be?"

House hesitated. "Just . . . older."

"Five years old? Ten? Fifteen? Thirty?"

"Thirty sounds good, yes. Fifty sounds even better. I probably won't even be around by then; I just could have left them a letter."

"In other words, just put it off as long as possible." House looked back down at his coffee. "Has Rachel ever asked you before Sunday about your leg?"

House took time for another couple of swallows of coffee. His right hand went to his thigh, resting on it again but not digging in. "She . . . might have a time or two."

"And what did you tell her?" Jensen asked. Again, he would have bet money that he knew the answer.

"I told her it just ached a little sometimes, like when she stubbed her toe."

The psychiatrist leaned forward a bit. "Let me give you a basic principle of child raising, Dr. House. If they are old enough to ask a serious question, they are old enough to get _some_ kind of truthful answer to it. I'm not saying Rachel was ready for everything. But don't ever dismiss a question like that. Dr. Cuddy was right to try to give her some of the facts. Actually, I'm sure that reassured Rachel to some extent."

House looked at him sharply. "_Reassured _her? She's been worried about me all week."

"She'll settle down. But without some kind of information on what she saw Sunday, she wouldn't be just worried. She would be _scared_. You said that terrified them, and I'm sure it did. Can you imagine from a 2-year-old's point of view wondering what on earth happened, wondering if it would happen again at any random moment, and having _no_ additional data to work from?"

"I hadn't thought of it like that," House admitted.

"If Dr. Cuddy had just glossed over a scene that traumatic and not answered her questions, I'm sure you would have seen a lot of difference in Rachel this week. Nightmares, clinging, afraid to let you out of her sight. _Any_ actual information is less frightening than having no idea what's going on. And that principle isn't just with kids, either. Remember when you were trying to conceal Dr. Cuddy's pregnancy from her?"

House's shoulders drooped. "Yes. It just made it worse for her."

"Exactly. She was more scared of the unknown, because she knew something was wrong with you and had no idea what. Dr. House, I think the fact that Rachel actually has asked you about your leg a few times before is very telling. And Abby, even with few words, is brilliantly perceptive. I think even without last Sunday, your girls would have needed to know the truth very soon. Forget putting it off until they're thirty. I don't think you possibly had even another year until they _needed_ that conversation, even if they never saw how bad the pain can get."

House's hand rubbed gently up and down his thigh, feeling the scar. "I just . . . wish they didn't know yet."

"I know. Just remember, concern is not assignment of failure. You have real problems with that leg, resulting in real pain, but none of that is your fault, and none of it is going to be the last straw for your family. You don't have to be something you aren't to stay with them or to deserve the happiness you feel. They wouldn't trade you for someone with two good legs even if they could." House looked thoughtful, and Jensen changed the subject a bit, giving him a breather to absorb some of those statements. "You said you put up the tree on Wednesday. I know you're really trying to use reconditioning with the Christmas aspect this year. How did that go?"

House relaxed a bit. "It was good. Just doing it together, Rachel helping me pick out ornaments. Abby's not mobile enough to really help, but she was watching, and Cuddy was on the couch being a supervisor and a distance perspective on how it all looked. It _was_ a good memory. Never had anything like that as a kid. Hell, we never even had a sick day all together, much less anything related to a holiday where we were really all together."

"I can imagine what your father's reaction to sickness was - a statement of weakness, right?"

"Got it in one."

"How did he respond to getting sick himself?" Jensen asked, truly curious.

"It was always my fault," House replied. "He would punish me for it later when he felt better."

"Of course." Jensen stomped down another surge of anger at John. "So I can see how even having everybody sick Sunday was positive more than it was negative for you." House considered, then nodded. "Just don't obsess over things until you force those scales to flip again. Nothing changed Sunday that wouldn't have inevitably changed soon anyway, and nobody is disappointed in you for it." Jensen looked at his watch. "We need to wrap it up, but first, I simply have to ask. Why were Rachel and Dr. Cuddy arguing with James about Christmas trees?"

House chuckled. "Wilson was there during the infamous Christmas tree fit plus pain flare. He saw it all, too. But what _he_ concluded from that scene was that since we were too sick to set up a tree ourselves Sunday, he needed to go get us one and do everything himself instead. Rachel told him off for it."

Jensen sighed. "He does try."

"Yep. I think that should be Wilson's motto. 'I do try.'"

"And how was Rachel's birthday yesterday?"

"It was good," House said tentatively, still a bit uncertain to assign that description to any day. "We gave her a child-sized piano, and I'll teach her some, on a 2-year-old level, of course." He grinned. "She wanted me to play it, actually, and I had to get clear down on the floor to do anything with it." His expression clouded over again suddenly. "And then she and Abby watched me get up off the floor later and worried about it."

"Their concern will get less obvious, Dr. House. But really, it was time for them to know, and they don't consider it a failure on your part."

House abruptly hit his limit on open conversation for the day and lurched to his feet. "Right. We're out of time, like you said."

Jensen came to his feet himself and went over to the outer office door as House got his balance set with his cane. "I'll see you next week, Dr. House."

The psychiatrist opened the door, then stopped in surprise so that House, coming up behind, nearly ran into him. Melissa and Cathy had been in the outer office in the waiting chairs, and Cathy popped up like a grasshopper as the door opened. "Hi, Dad!"

"Hi. What are you two doing here?"

Cathy gave him a hug. "Mom got mad at the kitchen, so then she said we needed to go out to eat tonight and see a movie instead, to celebrate being well."

Jensen laughed. "Sounds like a good idea to me." He moved on, clearing the doorway, and Cathy transferred her exuberant attention.

"Hi, Dr. House!" She gave him a firm hug, though he couldn't help noticing how she, too, was careful of his bad leg.

"Hi, Cathy. How's the piano playing coming along?"

"A lot better. I've got a new teacher the last few weeks, and she's _so_ much better. It's actually fun. 'Course, I'm still not that good yet. But I'm getting better." She finally released him, letting him move over to the secretary's desk to write a check. "Want to come eat and see a movie with us?"

House shook his head. "I've got to get back to Princeton before the nanny has to leave. She's already staying late tonight. Maybe some other time."

Jensen, over beside Melissa now, tossed in his own vote. "You could still order in dinner or something. Have a family time at home yourself, to celebrate being well. That is a good idea, Cathy." He didn't limit it to physically.

"We might do that." House tore off the check and pocketed his checkbook. "See you next week."

"Good night, Dr. House!" Cathy called, but she was already diving into educating her parents on the current movies by the time House got to the door. He left the psychiatrist's office, heading home to celebrate being well with his family, but as much as he tried not to let it matter, he was still aware of the pain in his leg and the uneven footsteps that marked his path to the elevator.


End file.
